


something in the way

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Angst and Feels, Cheating, Childhood Friends, Drama & Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Pining, background Sansa/Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: Sansa’s skin is incredibly flushed, feeling hot to his touch. He places both hands on her face, one thumb caressing her cheek.“I’m going to kiss you now.”He’s surprised by the gruffness of his voice, and by the fact he’s not asking for permission. He doesn’t need to. Her hand is tightly grasping his shirt and he’s aware of how wide her pupils are. She wants him to kiss her again, he knows, recognizes the desperate expression in her eyes as one he’s seen on himself many times. The thought that she might be as affected by this as he is excites him.90s AU. Jon and Sansa have a moment. Too bad she's engaged to someone else. Too bad he's in love with her.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 81





	something in the way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SansaRegina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansaRegina/gifts), [lcdysansa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lcdysansa/gifts), [willowycreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowycreature/gifts), [sylviadraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylviadraft/gifts).



> The best parts of this are heavily inspired by:
> 
> \- Lovecraft Country s01e03  
> \- the book Conversations Between Friends, by Sally Rooney  
> \- the movie My Best Friend's Wedding
> 
> The rest is just my mediocre self.
> 
> Again, not a lot of depth to this, just Jon and Sansa being crazy mad in love with each other and not realizing it until it's almost too late.
> 
> Thank you to Yulia, Mani, Maria and Anni who read this and told me it was good enough to post. Sorry if they lied!
> 
> Any mistakes are my own <3

As Jon Snow leans against the living room doorway of the Stark’s old home, a cold beer in hand, the first three buttons of his shirt open from how hot the room is, he mulls over his most recent conclusion:

Loving Sansa Stark is not easy.

This is something that’s been forming in his brain over the course of many years, but it’s only tonight, as he watches her dancing from afar, that he’s faced with the reality of such a statement. Loving Sansa is not easy because she is his best friend's little sister, and even though she's two years older than Arya, Robb has always been - and will probably always be - overprotective of her, in an excessive, annoying manner. That's just how he sees Sansa, as a delicate thing, that must be watched over, that must be kept from harm's way. Not that Jon would ever do her any harm, of course not. On the contrary, what he wants, more than anything in this world, is to help keep her safe, and make her happy. That comes along with loving her, yet he’s positive that Robb probably won't see it that way. Ever since Ned and Catelyn’s passing, Robb had taken over as the authority figure of the family and although meaning well, he most certainly had made it difficult for any man that tried to win over his sister’s heart. He struggles to see her as the wise, fierce young woman that she is, Jon has watched over the years as the two of them fought, Sansa searching for her independence and Robb still desperately clinging to that idea of her as a little girl, their constant fighting causing more and more damage to their relationship. It was only after Robb got married and had his first kid that their bond got strong again, because Sansa adored her sister in law and she also adored her niece - who had been named after Catelyn and had Sansa and Jon as godparents - and it was Jeyne Westerling who had been able to convince Robb to back off a little and just be a normal older brother for once. 

Sansa throws her head back, laughing so carelessly over something he can’t make out, and his eyes trace the curve of her throat. Loving her is also not easy because she's Sansa fucking Stark, and she intimidates the hell out of him. She was top of her class back when they were still in school. She got scholarships to all major universities based solely on her student records, and Jon knows she graduated with honors from Princeton. She reads a lot, and not just the classics, no, Sansa likes to read a lot of romance novels and also fantasy and contemporary and mystery and really anything that sparks her interest, and she likes to write essays about the books she reads, and send them to literary magazines to be published and praised upon. She loves to cook and bake, does so as a hobby, and she's great at it, obviously, because she's great at everything that she puts her mind to. She bakes him a dark chocolate cake for his birthday every year, even if he doesn’t ask her to, because she knows it’s his favorite. And last, but definitely not least, she's kind. She's always been, even when she was annoying the hell out of him and Robb as a teen, even when she was fighting with Arya almost every day of the week over the most trivial of things, even when she was almost numb with grief after her parents passing, she was always kind. One might even say she’s too kind. Sansa has a big heart, a heart that has been taken advantage of, a heart that has been shattered before, a heart that has dealt with tremendous loss, and all that still didn't stop her from being kind. This notion has always terrified him because what if he screwed up? What if, somehow, in some way, he ended up being the one that hurt her? This girl who's the kindest person he's ever met in his life? This woman who has always tried to keep a smile on her face despite the hardships that she faced, despite the sorrow and the misfortune and the loneliness that she endured?

So he's loved her from afar. He’s not proud of it, but that’s what he did. What he  _ does. _ That's also not easy because Sansa has this way of knowing things, of seeing people. She's always been good at that, at knowing what to say, at sensing when someone might need a hug or a hand to hold, or simply a cup of hot tea on a cold October afternoon. That's her, always watching, always paying attention, always taking care of others before they even know they need taking care of. And Jon, well, Jon is quite the opposite. He keeps to himself, mostly. He minds his business and he sometimes causes trouble and he’s not really someone to risk his neck for just anyone. That's yet another reason for him to have pushed her away, for him to keep his distance, for him to try and hide his feelings from her no matter how strong they are. He feels like he has succeeded. She reached out, multiple times over the years, and he always pulled back, until one day she stopped. He thinks that now, after having loved her for almost half his life, he's managed to find peace with wanting what he can’t have. He's thirty now, he needs to get his shit together, he needs to move on from this highschool crush who turned into something else when in reality it should've always stayed like that: a simple crush. Maybe now, maybe tonight, he might just get to do that.

Because tonight is Sansa Stark's engagement party.

Which is really the worst place possible for Jon to be having all these thoughts about how hard it is to love her and how much he wishes he could be with her and how lovely she’s looking in that dress, but that's just what he's doing. And he’s also reminding himself of all the reasons why he never once pursued this, no matter how much he wanted to. 

(He's also reminding himself of all the reasons why he can't punch Harry Hardyng in the face.

_ Number one: Sansa would be mad. _

_ Number two: Robb might join me and then it would be too unfair on Harry. _

_ Number three: It’s not really worth it. _

But he wants to. Oh, how he wants to.)

Jon’s hand closes more firmly around the beer bottle as he takes a sip, watching Harry from afar as he dances with Sansa. The prick's hand is too low on her back to be proper. Except it is proper, because he is her fiancé. He can do whatever he wants with her, and Jon can only watch.

This is torture.

He should leave, go mingle, maybe get a go at playing cards with the guys in the backyard, yet he keeps on watching as Sansa's hips sway back and forth, as she spins around Harry and grinds against him, as his hands find her waist and pull her back, venturing lower until he's all but squeezing her bum. Jon really wants to punch him, and at the same time he can't take his eyes off of Sansa, especially when she turns, her back now pressed against Harry’s chest, opening her piercing blue eyes and staring right back at him. Her neck and chest are flushed from dancing, and her cheeks are the most lovely shade of pink, and Jon thinks he ought to look away, ought to stop staring, but Sansa is still watching him while she moves and he can't for the life of him drop his eyes.

So he looks. She seems to be giving him permission to do it, and he’s only a man. He stays leaning against the doorway, one hand clenched inside his pocket, the other holding his beer, and he stares at Sansa, intently. She’s wearing a black dress, tight, velvet clinging to her body, with very thin straps that barely have any purpose. Her pale shoulders are freckled and gleaming a bit from sweat and he wonders what it would feel like to press a kiss right at the curve of her neck, wonders how her skin would taste under his tongue. He lets his eyes roam down, taking in how the fabric of the dress is stretched around her hips, where Harry’s hands are placed. Jon hates the way he’s touching her, making her move at his pace, whispering words in her ear, their bodies pressed so close together. He takes another sip of his beer, eyes meeting hers again, and he licks his lips as if to catch a drop of liquid, but it’s really just to see how she reacts,  _ if _ she’ll react. Sansa gasps, her lips parting just slightly, before she’s turning again, twisting in Harry’s hold, her arms coming to circle his neck, her hips swaying with the song. She glances at Jon from over her shoulder, eyes meeting him again, holding his gaze for a few seconds, before turning her attention back to her fiancé.

“I seriously cannot believe you’re eye-fucking my sister during her engagement party.”

_ Shit.  _ His heart starts racing. He clenches his jaw, turning his head to the side to see Arya standing there, leaning against the other side of the doorway, body turned fully towards him, arms crossed over her chest. They’re now fully blocking the passage from the living room to the main hallway, but she doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Her eyes are on Jon, and just when she lifts a brow at him he faces forward again, bringing the bottle to his lips, avoiding her stare.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right.” She scoffs. “Explain the drool on your shirt, then.”

He actually looks down, startled, and hears her cluckle.

“Dude, you’re so lame.”

“Fuck off.”

Arya punches him in the arm, lightly, but she doesn’t say anything else. They stand together for a while, Jon still watching Sansa dance, until the song ends and she stops, talking to Harry about something he can’t make out.

“I also can’t believe you’re letting Harry Hardyng become my brother in law.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off Sansa, but he knows Arya is glaring at him again. He manages to hold back a sigh. “I’m not letting anyone do anything, Arya. Your sister is the one who got engaged to him.”

“Only because you’re not brave enough to ask.”

It comes out muttered, under her breath, and when Jon turns his face to her he knows she didn’t mean for him to hear it. He heard it all the same, or at least he thinks he did, but his mind is racing too much for him to be sure.

“What?”

She quickly looks down, avoiding his eyes. “Nothing, just forget it.”

“Oh, no fucking way, did you just say-”

“Hi, guys.”

Sansa’s voice makes him stop talking, body turning to face her. She’s standing very close, eyes altering between him and Arya, her cheeks looking flushed, one drop of sweat dripping from her neck to her chest. He follows it with his eyes until it disappears under her cleavage, feeling the tip of his ears get hot from staring at her so shamelessly.

“Hey,” he hears Arya say. 

He keeps quiet, sipping his beer just so he has something to do.

Sansa motions to the small space between them, eyes now on her sister. “Can you guys let me through?” 

Arya moves out of the way, but he stays put, throat suddenly, so he drinks some more. She mutters a  _ thanks,  _ walking past him, her arm brushing his shoulder, and he feels the touch all over his body. His eyes follow her, watching as she reaches the stairs to the second floor, her long legs climbing up the steps until she’s fully out of view. He finishes his beer, eyes still on the top of the stairs, until he hears Arya snorting next to him.

He gives her a glance. She’s still avoiding his eyes, but now with half a smirk on her lips. Jon thinks back on the image of Sansa dancing, and the way she was staring back at him.

“Did you really mean that?”

She still won't look at him, so he pushes, unable to drop this. Sansa’s blue eyes are very vivid in his mind. So are the movement of her hips, the drop of sweat on her skin. He needs to know.

_ “Arya.” _

He watches her pinch the bridge of her nose, letting out a sigh before raising her eyes to meet his. Her arms are still crossed over her chest, defensive, and she gives him a hard look before speaking. “Just promise me you’re not gonna do anything stupid.”

He doesn’t say anything because he can’t promise her that. She stares at him for a few seconds, before rolling her eyes, finishing her own beer with a long chug, the one he hadn’t even noticed she was holding, and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“She likes you. Since like, ninth grade or something. Hell, she might’ve even loved you at some point.”

His fingers start shaking. He grabs the empty bottle with more force, forms a fist inside his pocket. “What?”

“You’re always cold, you know? Too damn cold, for no reason. It’s not like she was gonna wait forever, Jon.”

“You’re messing with me, right?”

He looks at Arya, at her wild dark hair pinned back by a few bobby pins, at her grey eyes so similar to his, at the little frown between her brows from the way she’s looking at him. This is, for all intents and purposes, the closest he’ll ever get to having a little sister. He trusts her, loves her with all his heart. And he knows, without a doubt, that she wouldn’t joke about something like this.

She’s quick to reply, croaking her head slightly to the side. “What do you think?”

That tells him all he needs to know.

_ Fuck. _

* * *

Jon grabs another beer before climbing up the steps.

He needs something to do with his hands. The glass is freezing cold, almost hurting his fingers, but he doesn’t mind it. The house is too hot and the cold glass serves to clear his mind, in a way, before he chickens out of what he's about to do. He doesn’t really have a plan, he just knows that, after hearing Arya’s words, he needs to see  _ her, _ needs to talk to her, needs to do  _ something  _ other than just stand back and watch her from afar, like he’s been doing all these years. 

And Sansa hasn’t come down yet, so he goes looking for her.

He knows this house like it is his own. It sort of is his, in the way that it’s engraved in his memory from all the time he spent here from the age of nine. This used to be Ned and Cat’s place before their deaths, and it’s now where Robb lives with his family. A big, old house, big enough to have a nice gathering on a hot July evening, and with Jeyne being asked to be one of the bridesmaids, it just made sense to throw the engagement party here. The guests are all hanging on the first floor and in the backyard, leaving the second floor quiet, quiet enough that Jon is able to hear the sound of water running from inside the upstairs guest bathroom. 

He walks the few steps down the hallway, stopping as the sound comes to an end. The bathroom door is ajar, leaving him with a lovely view of Sansa’s back, her wet face and chest reflected in the mirror, her auburn hair tied messily in a bun, damp locks stuck to the back of her neck. He watches her grab a hand towel and dab it on her still reddened skin, watches the delicate motions of her fingers as she dries herself, a puff of air escaping her lips while she moves, a small thud making him drop his eyes to the ground. In the low light he sees that she’s now barefoot, her heeled sandals discarded next to her feet, faint red marks around her ankles. He trails his gaze up her legs, legs that are usually covered with tights, but tonight are bare, most likely because of the heat. It’s been a hot summer and the house’s air conditioning system is old, certainly not potent enough to sustain a gathering this big. Sansa’s been dancing for most of the night, and he wonders if her thighs are slick with sweat as her upper body had been. He would normally be ashamed of such thoughts coming to him with such ease, but now he can only think of how she was watching him so openly while dancing, and Arya’s words keep roaming in his head.

_ It’s not like she was gonna wait forever, Jon. _

He moves, pushing the door open with his knuckles, leaning against the doorway, eyes on her face in the mirror. He sees a shiver run through her when she lifts her gaze, hand pressing over her chest, a startled gasp leaving her lips. Then their eyes meet and she chuckles.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry.”

He keeps watching her, noticing her flushed state. Her right rand is still pressed against her chest, the small diamond on her finger shining under the yellow light.

“I’m just trying to cool off a bit,” she tells him. “I'll be down in a minute.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t drop his eyes, just stays there, holding her gaze, taking a sip from his beer while doing so. It’s cold against his mouth, and he flicks his tongue over his lips. Her eyes follow his movements, focusing on his mouth for just a second before meeting his stare again. Her cheeks are still flushed, and so are her neck and chest. She places the hand towel back on it’s handle, then turns, leaning against the sink countertop, giving him a small smile and swiftly fanning herself with her left hand. Jon watches the delicate movement of her wrist. He imagines what it would feel like to wrap his hand around it and bring it to his lips, how soft her skin would feel under his touch. Without saying anything, he moves, two long steps taking him to stand right before her. He lifts the cold beer bottle to her face, pressing it against her cheek. Sansa closes her eyes, a small gasp escaping her.

“Is this good?” he hears himself ask, a roughness to his voice.

“Yeah, it feels amazing.”

Her scent overwhelms him, lavender perfume mixed with sweat making him desperately want to taste her. Her dress sleeve has dropped from her shoulder, hanging loosely against her arm. He moves the bottle, wetting her neck until the cold glass is pressing on her collarbone.

“How about this?”

A condensation drop runs down her chest, goosebumps forming on her skin. She shivers, her right hand reaches for him, fingers grazing his abdomen through his cotton shirt. He sucks in a breath at her touch. She opens her eyes, stares back at him while she speaks. “It’s really good.”

They’re very close. Jon moves the bottle to his lips, takes a long sip, eyes on her. She doesn’t say anything else, just moves her hand lower, hooks a finger on his belt.

“Sansa.”

She kisses him, and he lets her, her mouth warm against his cold lips. He wants her so bad he feels incredibly reckless yet incapable of saying or doing anything at all. So he just kisses her back, his free hand finding her waist, fingers digging into her skin with how strong his need for her is. She makes a sound from deep within her throat, and he pushes her more firmly to the countertop, rolling his hips against her pelvis. Her left hand tangles in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, and he feels dizzy and hot all over. The moment lasts longer than he’s expecting it, and when her hand comes up to cup his cheek, he’s sure she’ll tell him to stop.

“You need to shut the door.”

She mumbles the words against his lips. Jon’s eyes open at the sound of her voice, and he’s left stunned by the urgency in it. It takes him a few seconds to move, by then Sansa’s eyes are open too, her expression guarded. She pulls back, dropping her gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-” Her voice is small. She lowers her hand from his face. “You don’t have to do that, or anything actually, I’m just gonna g-”

He places the beer bottle on the countertop, the movement making her stop talking. She’s looking at him again, and he reaches backwards with his foot, pushing the door shut. Sansa is startled by the noise, but he knows it will go unnoticed downstairs, with how loud the music is. He reaches for her hand, brings it back to his face, gently kisses her knuckles before speaking.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jon waits. He’s giving her an out, despite the fact that she kissed him first, despite her asking him to shut the door, as if wanting to do more than just kiss him. If he’s going to have this, if he’s going to have her, he needs her to be completely sure, as sure as he’s been for the past years. The bathroom is now much quieter, the party noises coming to them muffled through the hard wood. He wonders if she can hear how fast his heart is beating, waiting to hear her answer. Sansa shakes her head no, very lightly, just clear enough to make him understand. He releases a breath over her skin, the diamond of her ring pressing against his lips. He opens up, takes her finger all the way into his mouth, eyes watching her. She whimpers, audibly, tightens her hold on his curls. Jon twirls his tongue and sucks, slowly removing the ring. He places her hand over his chest, right above his heart, and picks up her ring from his mouth, dropping it inside his pocket.

Sansa’s skin is incredibly flushed, feeling hot to his touch. He places both hands on her face, one thumb caressing her cheek. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” 

He’s surprised by the gruffness of his voice, and by the fact he’s not asking for permission. He doesn’t need to. Her hand is tightly grasping his shirt and he’s aware of how wide her pupils are. She wants him to kiss her again, he knows, recognizes the desperate expression in her eyes as one he’s seen on himself many times. The thought that she might be as affected by this as he is excites him.

Jon’s lips meet hers and she immediately whimpers again, the sound low, needy, encouraging him to press himself more firmly against her. He’s hard, painfully so, and it thrills him to know she can feel how much he wants her. He traces her lips with his tongue and she parts her mouth, allowing him in. Sansa keeps making small sounds the more he kisses her, her arms wrapping around his neck, her body fitting nicely against his. He’s gentle, despite his eagerness, wanting to commit this moment to memory, surrendering to the warmth of her mouth.

Three knocks on the door is what makes their lips part.

They’re more like bangs, really, heavy and loud, the wood shaking under the pressure. Sansa is muttering a curse under her breath, and Jon would be stunned to hear her swearing, something that she  _ never  _ does, weren’t for the fact that his body is terribly stiff as a voice starts talking.

“Sansa, you in there?!”

It’s a shout, muffled by the shut door, but still very clear. Jon recognizes Harry’s voice, and he pulls a few inches away to look at Sansa, still keeping his hands on her face. He didn’t close the lock, and any second now Harry could turn the doorknob and catch them. He should at least pull away from her, but he won’t, because Sansa is not looking towards the noise, as he expected her to be. Her eyes are on him, cheeks deeply flushed, lips red and swollen from his kisses. She trembles once the banging starts again, louder this time, and with a sigh she closes her eyes, shouting back.

“Yeah, I’m here! I’ll be down in a minute, I had a problem with my dress.”

“You need any help?”

“No, it’s fine! Just go back to the party, I’ll be there in a sec.”

They wait, but there’s nothing from the other side of the door. Seconds pass. Jon swallows, drily. He wants to reach out for his beer, take another sip. He wants to kiss her again. Instead, he drops his hands from her face. His thumb traces under her lower lip, swiping away the smudged lipstick. He lifts her dress sleeve, placing it nicely over her shoulder. His fingers linger on her skin longer than they have to, because the last thing he wants to do is let go from her, but eventually he moves, backing away until he hits the wall, and he waits for her to say something.

“I should go.”

Her voice sounds strange to him.

“Alright.”

She doesn’t move, not to put on her sandals, not to fix her hair, not to walk away from him. He watches her lips part again, as if she means to tell him something, something that will probably reduce him to shreds, and he finds that he really doesn’t want to hear it, not now and maybe not ever. He’s better off not knowing.

“Jon-”

“It’s okay, Sans. You really should go, Harry is waiting for you.”

He watches her eyes change, harden, watches her clench her hands, only to unclench them seconds later. Her lips are pressed into a firm line. He puts his hands on his pockets, his fingers finding her ring. He doesn’t say anything. With a short nod, she leans down to collect her shoes, not bothering to put them on, then she opens the door, and shuts it without a glance back, leaving Jon to stare at his own reflection. His curls are messy, his shirt wrinkled. He doesn’t recognize the look in his eyes. He closes his hand around the ring in his pocket, free hand reaching for the beer bottle, now terribly warm.

Loving Sansa Stark is not easy.

Jon finds that not loving her is even harder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr if you feel like it :)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Xxxxxxx


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